Rain Must Fall
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: Into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary. GSR, Spoilers for Living Doll
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: I absolutely have to thank PhDelicious and Cincoflex for their invaluable help on this story, as well as Mingsmommy who still talks to me, even after I called her while I was driving on the freeway, to tell her the idea for this story in case I forgot it later. And I really want to thank all of you for stopping by to read it. I have to tell you, it will be different. But I hope you'll give it a try:)

Dedication: I've wanted to write a story in memory of our lost GSR friend, Tiffany, for awhile now. So this one is for her.

* * *

Rain Must Fall 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary. – Longfellow_

* * *

**Prologue**

Sara was surprised at how much it didn't hurt to be trapped underneath a car.

It wasn't comfortable by any means, but it was tolerable. She'd woken up groggy from whatever had been injected into the side of her neck back in the parking garage. There had been pain at the injection site that had dulled into a minor ache rather quickly. But that had been it. As far as she could tell, the only thing that kept her from crawling out was the mysterious drug. Her legs wouldn't cooperate.

She'd just wait, she decided. Wait until Grissom found her. Because he would. He had to. She trusted him with her life.

But then the rain started. And the more it rained, the softer the ground beneath her became.

As best she could figure it, the car was sinking into the softened ground. And the car didn't seem to care that she was underneath it, and that while she was slipping into the mud, too, she wasn't going down nearly as fast as the heavy metal above her.

Pressure on her legs was the first sign that everything was changing. Then her hips. Her chest. Until finally, the weight on her back was too much. She could only take tiny sips of air. The ground and the car pressed both up and down on her, squeezing her slender body.

And then she couldn't breathe at all.

She saw faces. Greg's laugh. Catherine's smirk. Nick's wink. Warrick's slow grin. Grissom's entrancing stare. Those eyes she could never resist, could never look away from.

Then there were voices. They spoke to her, mumbled words that made no sense. Except for him. She could hear him clearly.

_Don't give up, Sara._

She always did what he wanted her to do. But this time…it wasn't up to her.

Sara let her hand relax, let it stop reaching for something that wasn't there. She rested her cheek on the cold pillow of mud and closed her eyes.

With the last whispers of breath left in her body, she pleaded to a power higher than science and reason.

"Please don't let this be the end…"

* * *

To Be Continued 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

* * *

Rain Must Fall

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

**Chapter One**

Mornings always came too soon. It seemed like the second her head touched the pillow, the alarm on her watch would begin to buzz, jolting her into another day.

But never a better one.

By the time she gathered enough energy to make her watch shut up, the second alarm on her comp would go off. That one was a little harder to deal with; it required her actually getting out of bed.

It was her habit to check for any new messages that might have come in during the short amount of time she spent sleeping. That day there were two, both from the same person, both urgently requesting her presence earlier than ASAP. They would have to wait. A shower and coffee came first.

The water was tepid, but that didn't stop her from lingering under the spray until the water pressure, which wasn't much to begin with, all but vanished. She took her time soaping up her too-slender body. Her hand passed over the scar just above her breast, and she had to close her eyes against the memories touching it always invoked.

After her shower, she dressed in her usual black pants, olive tank top and brown leather jacket. As she strapped on her boots and checked her gas mask for any leaks, the news played on her comp. Not the news that would be playing on the street signs when she stepped outside, but the real news. The news that traveled underground.

The news that was the truth.

"…but our reports put the death toll somewhere around five hundred. Again, if you're just joining us, fighting escalated in northern Texas late last night, resulting in hundreds of deaths which the President has declared 'a moderate and necessary loss of life."

A second reporter took over. "The investigation into the death of Vice President Cole's wife has officially ended. According to the report released yesterday, Anayah Cole committed suicide by hanging herself from a safety railing in the new White House late last week. The funeral will be held in two days, and the Vice President has yet to comment on his wife's untimely death. In other news, one of the government's top scientists has gone missing. Gid.."

A message popped up on her comp screen, blocking the reporter's face.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered as she read yet another message compelling her to get to Point A immediately. "I'll get there when I get there."

After turning the comp's screen off, she took a second to study herself in the mirror. With her dark brown hair slicked back and her makeup twice as heavy as she ever would have applied it in the past, she barely recognized herself.

Hopefully no one else would either.

* * *

The smog over San Francisco was light enough that day to where it almost seemed like she didn't need her mask. But it was better to be safe than sorry; she'd been exposed to enough chemicals for three lifetimes.

On her way up one steep hill, she passed a street sign that blared out the other version of the news. It was the same story about Texas, only this reporter put the death toll at a moderate fifty.

The last thing she heard before she was out of earshot was a snipped from the end of the broadcast. "…and that's the news for this Wednesday, May 23rd, 20…"

She wasn't the only one out on the street, enjoying the relatively clear morning sky. A group of soldiers in the familiar, but dreaded white uniform approached from the opposite direction on Market Street. Instinctively, she felt in her pocket for her latest ID card. If they stopped her, she'd be prepared.

With her head down, she kept walking a steady, straight line, successfully blending into the thin crowd, all of whom had their own gas masks in place. The soldiers passed her without so much as a glance in her direction, and her shoulders relaxed.

A few minutes later, she reached her destination. To all outward appearances, it was little more than a rundown apartment complex. But most of the abandoned buildings in the city didn't have fingerprint identifiers built into their door handles. She grabbed the knob, and after a ten second scan of her thumb, she heard the click of the lock detaching.

Once inside, she removed her mask and took a deep breath. After a certain amount of time breathing through the rubber filter, even the smell of stale garbage that permeated the entryway was a welcome change.

Down the hall, two right turns, one left and she found herself at a second door. Bending her knees a little, she put her eyes on the same level as the peephole. When the retina scan was complete, she pushed the door open and went inside.

To anyone else, it looked like a typical apartment. There were no desks, so the agents who worked here made do with a couch or a recliner, their comps settled on their laps. The bedrooms served as the only offices, but even they weren't equipped as such. If Point A was ever raided, there was little to no evidence that it was anything other than an over-crowded flat.

"Sirah!"

She tried not to wince at the sound of his voice. Just because he'd had more fun on their one painfully platonic date than she had didn't mean she had to hurt his young feelings.

"Gray," she replied turning around to see him. Notorious for never wearing his hair the same way twice, today he had it styled in stiff spikes smeared with blue goop. His eyes twinkled, something she would probably never understand about him. His life was as hard as anyone else's…so what the hell made him so damn cheerful? "What's going on? I got message bombed this morning."

"Something big. I'm supposed to make sure you get back there. Immediately." He gave her an apologetic smile as he took her elbow.

"But…" She pointed towards the kitchen, and the coffee that lay within. These days, even instant was a luxury.

He guided her right past the open door. "Later." They stopped at the end of the hall, right in front of the back bedroom. "You want me to go in with you?"

Sirah gave him a look that could have refrozen the polar ice caps. "I'm a big girl. Besides…would they even let you?" Gray's bright expression drooped a bit, and instantly she felt a twinge of guilt. "When you get level two clearance, I'll let you walk me in."

A jaunty smile slid back onto his face. He knocked twice on the door and stepped away, bowing deeply. She rolled her eyes as she entered the bedroom, but she was smiling, too. Around Gray, it was hard not to.

"You're late."

She hated the way Carrine said that, like she was a naughty child who needed to be disciplined. But after ten months of being forced to work with the older woman, she was getting used to condescension.

With a nod to Watt, who presented a tall, dark and admittedly handsome picture in the far corner of the room, she sat down in the closest chair. "Obviously you need something from me, so…can we get on with the meeting?"

Carrine sighed and shook her strawberry hair back from her face. "Did you watch the news this morning?"

"Fighting in Texas," Sirah said, setting her mask on the floor. "Five hundred dead. Or is it fifty?" She shrugged carelessly. "It's just the difference of a zero."

"So you didn't hear about the president losing one of his scientists?" She answered Carrine's question with a blank look. "No? It was a lead story." Sirah continued to stare at her. "I think you do this on purpose just to drive me…"

"Car." Watt shook his head, a silent signal for her to let it go. And Carrine did. Sirah rolled her eyes. It was no secret that they shared a bed, but did they have to be so obvious about it? Had it been anyone else trying to keep her in check, Carrine would have ripped them a new one.

The older woman sighed and started over. "Ten years ago, I worked with a brilliant man named…"

Sirah cut her off. "I don't need background. I just need a mission statement."

They knew her well enough not to be surprised by her cool tone. She was aware that her tendency towards detachment made her somewhat of an oddity, even amongst the people who operated under the government radar. But she'd been attached to things in the past. And it had never worked out well.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you about the lengths the bastard in office will go to in order to get a scientist back under his control. Because god forbid one of them actually gets out into the world, and reminds people that there are thoughts beyond what comes through their television screens, prepackaged and sanitized and…" Carrine stopped for a moment after getting another look from Watt. "Sorry. I'm preaching to the converted." She took a breath. "Currently, the scientist in question is making his way across the country through friends of the Liberation. He's with one of our best guys, but I need you to rendezvous with him in Nevada."

"Nevada is a Dead Zone," she said, folding her arms.

"We know. But he's carrying something valuable," Watt spoke up from the corner. "We need you to make sure he makes it all the way here."

Sirah arched a dark eyebrow. "You don't trust our op to keep him alive?"

"Do you have something better to do?" Carrine asked pointedly. A moment passed. "You know, when you first came to us, I gave you two months. But you've turned into one of our best agents." She leaned in, as if sharing a secret. "I don't give praise often. Take my trust in you to complete this very important job as a rare and precious compliment."

She wasn't flattered. "I suppose there's no point in asking what this man's got that you're willing to risk more than one life to get."

Carrine's smile was brittle. "Let's just say…it could change the world."

Watt moved forward and handed Sirah a thick envelope. "Everything you need is in here," he said. "New ID card, travel papers, map, credit chip. You just need to supply your own toothbrush." He paused, as if she wasn't going to like what was coming next. "Branton is going to meet up with you at the border, so you won't be alone."

It was kind of him to care. But resentment, laced with the tiniest thread of anxiety, colored her reply. "Isn't Branton an old drunk? I'd be better off by myself."

"Branton's got government connections." The older woman's tone left no room for further protest. "And he knows Nevada. Used to live there before the Connies set their sights on it. You'll need him."

They mistook her silence as acceptance. Sirah took the ID out of the envelope and examined the altered picture next to her new name. "At least I don't have to dye my hair this time."

Carrine's smile was too-sweet. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Watt patted her shoulder with his big, coffee-colored hand. "Good luck. If you need to contact us, you know the code. But let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Our op's name is Nikhil," Carrine told her. "The scientist is…"

"Irrelevant." Sirah picked up her mask and stood. "He's just a mission to me."

* * *

She went back home long enough to pack a few things for the trip. Despite knowing better than to get attached to things, there were one or two items that she never went anywhere without. A small framed picture, a necklace, a textbook, an old ID card. She stuffed them all into a nondescript duffel bag, along with a few changes of clothes, a travel shower kit like people used to take on vacations…when people still took vacations, and, as Watt had requested, her toothbrush. Her comp went in last; she couldn't risk leaving it behind.

When she was packed, Sirah lay down on the bed she'd almost just gotten out of. She couldn't sleep at night, but in the middle of the day, with a long journey ahead of her, she allowed herself a quick nap. Because she had no idea when she would get to rest in relative safety again.

Closing her eyes, she let the blissful black claim her.

_She felt something wet lapping at the palm of her hand. Cracking one eye open, she saw a long pink tongue washing her fingers as they dangled off the edge of the bed. The animal attached to the tongue looked up at her from the floor with big, begging eyes. But he knew better than to get up on the bed while they were still in it._

_The person lying behind her shifted, and she felt a strong arm slip around her waist, pulling her back towards his comfortable chest. He rubbed his stubbled cheek against her shoulder, and his morning stiffness prodded her thigh. _

_She patted the dog's nose and drew her hand back, entwining her damp fingers with his against her breast. She was warm, aroused, and there was absolutely no reason to get up. _

By the time she woke, the sun was about to go down over the oily waters of the Bay. Groggy, like she always was after one of the dreams, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her nap had been all but useless. She felt more tired now than she had when she'd lain down.

When she came out of her apartment, there was a dirty black four-door sedan pulled up to the curb. The keys were still in the ignition.

Sirah got in, checked her map, and turned the engine over. It coughed to life like it was on its last legs. She prayed she'd make it down the block, much less all the way to the border.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thanks to PhDelicious and Cincoflex for all their help with beta-ing this story, and helping me work out the details. If you're back for chapter three, thank you so much! I know you've probably got questions, and I hope you'll stick around until they're all answered.

* * *

Rain Must Fall 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Whoever had supplied the car and stocked it with food, water and an emergency gallon of gas hadn't been thoughtful enough to provide any music for the trip. Sirah drove the first fifty miles in silence. It was only when the random thoughts in her head became too much to bear that she pulled over and dug her comp out of her bag. The battery was good for another twenty-four hours; she turned it on and brought up her music files.

The car vibrated with guitar riffs and drum solos as they did their best to pound out the unwanted memories that her mind couldn't ever successfully expel.

At mile 120, Sirah stopped for a bathroom break at an abandoned convenience store. There was still gas in one of the pumps, something that most people would have considered a miracle. She figured it was just dumb luck.

With a full tank, and a full stomach after she ate a granola bar and downed an energy drink, she hit the road again, determined to make it to the rendezvous point before dawn.

The roads were dark and empty, and it wasn't all that hard to imagine that she was the only person in the world. She couldn't decide if she liked that or not. There was a certain appeal to the idea of total isolation, of having to worry about no one and nothing but herself.

Unfortunately there were still moments when she couldn't keep from remembering what it had felt like to be with someone. To feel hands other than her own on her body. Being touched was as much of an addiction as tobacco, and an even harder habit to break.

The woods began to give way to sandy slopes the further southeast she drove. She'd never really been crazy about the desert. It was too far removed from the ocean. Not the oil-slick mess it was now, but the powerful, crashing waves and deep blue depths of her childhood.

If she let herself long for anything, it would be for one last swim in the Pacific.

Sirah was jolted out of her thoughts when she noticed lights up ahead of her on the road. Dawn was creeping ever closer, but it wasn't the sunrise she saw. The light was unnatural. Man made. She checked her map again…and there it was. A checkpoint, clearly labeled, with an alternate route she could have taken to avoid it.

"Fuck!" She threw the map aside. It was too late to get off the freeway now. Being the only car on the road, the soldiers up ahead would notice if she suddenly veered off and turned around. There was nothing she could do.

As she approached, she eased her foot off the gas pedal. Keeping one hand on the wheel, the other one closed up her comp and pushed it to the passenger side floor, out of sight.

One soldier stepped out into the road, holding out his hand for her to stop. Her heart beat in her throat; she took a deep breath, and repeated her new name and reason for traveling under her breath.

The soldier was younger than Gray, but he had none of her co-agent's joviality. His expression was severely fixed, as if he'd forgotten how to smile. If he ever even knew. "ID and papers," he demanded after Sirah rolled down her window.

She forced her hands to stay steady as she reached into her bag. She handed him the requested items. "How're ya'll doin' tonight?" she asked, adopting a slight southern accent. Her ID claimed she was from Georgia.

With help from his flashlight, the soldier examined her information. "Marina Adler," he read off the card. "You're a long way from home."

"Don't I know it?" She blinked, forcing moisture to spring up at the corners of her eyes. "I'm tryin' to get back. I heard 'bout all that fightin' in Texas. I got some family there…I gotta check and see if they're…" She shook her head. "They're good citizens, you know?"

The soldier pointed his flashlight at her. A second soldier walked around to the back of the car, presumably to check her license plate. Sirah kept the tears coming. Tears of piety always worked with Connies, especially young ones who truly believed.

In the rearview mirror, she saw the second soldier nod. The first soldier lowered the light from her eyes and stepped back. "Go on."

It wasn't until she was a good ways away from the checkpoint that her adrenaline crashed, leaving her palms damp with relief. She slipped her hand inside her tank top, running the tips of her fingers over her scar until her heartbeat slowed down.

That Connie could have been Hollis seven years ago.

Once she was far out of sight, she pulled over and took a second to wipe the moisture from her cheeks. After carefully checking the map for any other checkpoints, Sirah started out again. She was forty miles from the rendezvous point, and dawn was about to break.

* * *

There were no guards at the border, no watchtowers, no barbed wire. There wasn't even as much as a chain-link fence. Just a few signs on the road, posted warnings about exposure and safety precautions. She knew the drill, and while she wasn't thrilled about going into a Dead Zone, she wasn't scared either. 

Once she crossed into Nevada, the map led her off the main road and into the desert. The sky was brilliantly pink and orange; there was very little smog here. It was almost pleasant. A pity people were afraid of it.

The road wound up through the mountains for a good half hour before she spotted the bunker. It stuck out of the rocks like someone had wedged it in haphazardly. There was another car parked out in front, an even dirtier version of her own sedan. She pulled up next to it, sending up a cloud of dust.

Not for the first time, she wished she had a gun, just in case. Carrine and Watt might trust this Branton, but she'd withhold judgment for the time being. She got out of the car, shrugging out of her jacket. The sun beat down on her bare arms. Free of the gas mask, she enjoyed a deep breath.

The bunker door swung open just then and a man stepped out into the light. Her initial estimate put him at about 55; he was shorter than her by a couple of inches, and while his hair wasn't white or even gray, it was definitely receding from his forehead. His face was rugged, but his eyes sparked with mirth. He looked like he needed to be someone's uncle, the kind who gave ridiculous nicknames like Sparkles or Cookie.

He stopped a few feet away from her, and she had the sneaking suspicion she was being summed up, too. "Sirah?" Branton said after a moment. When she inclined her head slightly, he smiled. "Welcome to my very humble abode." He turned to go back inside, but when she didn't follow, he looked back. "You gonna come inside where it's cool, or would you like to stay out here and bake?"

She folded her arms. "Shouldn't we be heading out?"

Branton laughed. "Carrine told me you were a real pain in the ass." He gestured to her. "Just come inside. Take a load off. Use the john, at least."

Reluctantly, and only because she did need to use the facilities, Sirah followed into the bunker. As promised, it was considerably cooler inside. The main room was furnished with a couch that had seen better days, and a comp set up on a stack of old milk cartons. The walls were bare metal wastelands.

"I take it this isn't your main address?"

"Hey," he said, feigning offense. "I single-handedly decorated this place." Pointing into an unseen room, Branton asked, "Coffee? Water? Beer?"

"You have beer?" she couldn't help but ask with a bit of longing.

He smiled knowingly. "What kind of crazy hermit in the desert would I be if I didn't have booze?" He disappeared for a minute, and when he returned, he carried two open bottles. "Cheers."

Sirah sipped from the one he handed her, and tried not to moan in pure pleasure. It was a little weaker than the brews of her youth, but it was still beer. It still tasted like freedom.

"So," Branton began a minute later. "What do you know about this scientist character?" She lifted her shoulders. "Prez wants him back pretty bad. You've gotta be wondering why."

"Not really," she replied. "It doesn't affect my job one way or the other."

"Lucky for you, I'm a little more naturally curious." Branton sat down in front of his comp, putting his bottle on the floor. "Guy's name is Gideon. Biologist. He's won about every damn award they give, but the thing is…no one really knows just what he does for the Connies."

"He's a Connie?" Sirah's lip curled in disdain.

Branton glanced curiously at her. "You should know better than anyone that that's not necessarily true." He paused. "Did you consider yourself a Conservative when you worked for them?"

She stared at him. "You've read my file?"

"The good, the bad and the ugly," he confirmed.

Looking away, Sirah drained the last of her beer. "Where's your bathroom?"

He pointed her in the right direction, and once she had locked herself inside the tiny room, she let out a string of the foulest curses she could concoct. Damn Carrine! Just because the woman had access to her information didn't mean she had the right to give it out to whomever she pleased.

Knowledge was power, and when people knew everything about you, they had power over you. It was something she'd vowed would never happen to her again. In the past five years, she'd built a new life for herself. And maybe it wasn't much to the outside eye, but it was hers entirely. No one was going to take it away.

She composed herself after a few minutes, completed her business, and came back out into the main room.

"If it'll make you feel better…" Branton immediately offered. "…I'll tell you one of my secrets."

"Keep your secrets," Sirah told him. "And don't bring mine up again."

He lowered his chin in acknowledgement. "Do you want to hear more about our biologist?"

She shook her head. "I'd like to get going. I assume you have a map to the next rendezvous point?"

"I do. But what's the rush? They've probably been slowed down by the mess in Texas." He pointed to the screen. "I found a picture of him." He tilted his head to one side, studying it. "I wouldn't say he's as good-looking as I am, but then, you know, who really is?"

She felt the corners of her lips turning up in a reluctant smirk. Standing behind him, she glanced at the comp screen. The grainy, black and white image of a baby-faced boy in his mid-twenties with a serious mess of curls stared back at her. No wonder he needed their protection.

Her attention drawn back to the mission at hand, Sirah folded her arms over her chest. "My only job here is to get this kid, and whatever information he's carrying, back to San Francisco as soon as possible. Anything extraneous to that goal doesn't interest me."

Branton sat back with his beer and studied her for a few seconds. "They did a real number on you, didn't they?"

She headed for the door. "We'll take my car. If you're not out in ten minutes, I'm leaving without you."

It was already hot outside. Sirah yanked open the car door and slid back into the driver's seat. She sat there for a long time, long enough to for a healthy sheen of perspiration to collect along her forehead and neck. When she was just about to start the car and go, Branton came out with a duffel bag stuffed full of water bottles.

"I'm driving," he said, leaning into the open window. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

Sirah gave him the glare that made most people back down. But he just stood there, staring right back. She gave in only because it would be a waste of time to argue about it.

Once they were both settled in the car, Branton adjusted the mirror, revved the engine, and backed up in a wide turn that almost made her wonder if their short acquaintance would end with them flying off the side of the mountain.

Slamming on the brakes just in time, he grinned as he shifted into drive. "Oops."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It did absolutely nothing to calm her. She kept them closed, however, and before she knew it, sleep blacked out everything else.

_It was just the two of them in the car, as dawn broke over the horizon. Home was still a several hours away, but they had these few moments together. She looked away from the road to watch him in the passenger's seat. _

_His eyes opened, crinkling at the corners as he smiled at her. "Long night," he said softly. _

"_Yeah," she agreed. "I'm glad you were there." _

_He took one of her hands off the wheel. "Do you want me to drive the rest of the way?" _

_She shook her head. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep. What are you on, anyway…hour thirty-eight?" _

"_Feels like it." He kissed her knuckles before releasing her hand. "But when we catch him…it'll be worth it." A few seconds later, he was lightly snoring, a familiar sound that accompanied for the rest of the journey._

She felt someone shaking her shoulder, and although she was still half-asleep, Sirah's instinctual fight-mode kicked in. She raised her fists, partly to ward off the attack, and partly to defend herself if it persisted.

"Hey!" Branton held up his hands. "Take it easy." Sirah blinked and looked around. The car had stopped somewhere in the desert; there were no distinguishing landmarks as far as the eye could see.

It was the middle of the day judging by the position of the sun. He'd let her sleep for several hours. Her stomach growled for food, but she ignored it.

"Why are we stopped?" she demanded.

Branton pulled out an old baseball cap out and put it on, tugging the brim low on his forehead. "We're walking the rest of the way." He grabbed his bag and opened the car door. "I hope you brought sunblock."

With a sigh, Sirah pulled her leather jacket back on. She might sweat to death, but at least she wouldn't burn to a crisp.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: I am incredibly thankful for every single review given for the last chapter. If you've come back for more, I am also extremely grateful, and I hope you enjoy it! I want to thank Cincoflex for all the help she's given me with this story; every observation and word of advice has been so appreciated;)

* * *

Rain Must Fall

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Two hours into their hike, Sirah had long since passed caring about being sunburned. Leather didn't go well with a 100 degree day. She'd ripped her jacket off and almost cast it off into the desert before she remembered that when the sun went down, the temperature would, too. It was now tied around her waist, and her arms were exposed to the elements. A small price to pay for being able to breathe again.

She was used to unpleasant circumstances, but as the afternoon wore on, she found herself tired, thirsty and cranky. And there was only one person to snipe at.

"So…we left the car behind…why exactly?"

Up ahead of her on the dusty path, Branton turned around and flashed a smile that seemed almost maniacal to her sun-bleared brain. "Ask me again in a minute."

"If you're going for ominously sage, you're falling short of the mark at annoyingly cryptic." Sirah shook her head. "I should have just come alone."

"You wouldn't have made it much farther on your own," he told her.

She kicked a rock out of her way. "Oh really? How come?"

He stopped and pointed. "I'll let them answer for me."

Sirah had seen a lot in her life, but there was something especially disturbing about what lay in front of them. At least a dozen skeletons formed a macabre barrier across the road; the bones that composed them had been bleached white by the sun. They were twisted together in unnatural positions, as if whoever put them there had meant to insult them, as well as use them as a warning.

Nevada was a Dead Zone, but this was a little deader than she'd expected.

"What is this?" Sirah demanded. "Who are they?"

"I would imagine the people stupid enough to enter this territory without a guide such as myself," Branton replied. "Come on."

They bypassed the bones in a wide arc, a small sign of respect for the dead. Still, Sirah found herself unable to look away from them. They were fascinating in an entirely frightening way. "Territory?" she asked him once they were on the other side of the once-human roadblock. "That would imply that someone lives here. And that's not possible."

"Of course it is. It's been five years since the Cleansing." Branton glanced back at her. "People live in Hiroshima, don't they?"

Her natural curiosity overcame her desire to remain as detached to the situation as possible. "So…who lives here?"

There was a cloud of dust approaching them on the road. As it got closer, Branton answered her question with a quiet, "They do." When he looked at her again, his expression had lost all of its mirth. "Let me do the talking. They're not savages, but this is their land. And they will kill to keep from losing it." He pulled up the leg of his dark trousers and produced a gun. "Take this. Just in case."

Almost as soon as she'd tucked the gun into the waist of her pants, the dust blew away, revealing a beat-up truck that carried several men with skin the color of stained wood. Branton approached them casually, even though several of them carried old-fashioned pistols.

Sirah couldn't hear what they were saying over the rush of the wind, but several of the men were gesturing wildly and shaking their heads at whatever Branton was telling them. But one man, the oldest judging by the fact that his long braids were snowy white, raised his hand and their protests stopped. He gave one small, simple nod. And then they all piled back in the truck. It took off a moment later.

"What the hell was all of that?" she demanded when Branton walked back to her.

"Successful negotiations with the Shoshone," he replied. "They're allowing us safe passage all the way to the city. But we have to walk. Apparently they only like their own cars polluting their land."

"Doesn't seem like they really want us here."

"They don't." Branton looked up at the sky, as if to judge the sun's position. "The Connies gave them this land after the Cleansing, to get them out of the way. They're fiercely protective of it." He paused. "But it's the perfect place to meet our fugitive scientist. No surveillance and no soldiers."

Sirah folded her arms. "If they're so protective, how come they're going to let us in?"

"Because they owe me a favor."

"Why?"

He sighed and dropped his chin to look at her. "Because I was the Connie who arranged the land deal for them."

She heard the shriek of a hawk somewhere in the distance, magnified by the mountains all around them. Her mouth felt as dry as the sand beneath her feet.

For a spilt-second, she felt herself begin to panic. He could have taken her anywhere; they could be miles from the rendezvous point, and this whole Shoshone land thing could just be an elaborate ruse. How could she have let her guard down around someone she'd only known since dawn?

"Let me guess," Branton said after a few moments of painful silence. "Carrine told you I had government connections, but didn't elaborate."

Sirah took a step away from him. "She should have told me."

"I'm sure she didn't want you to react…you know…like you are." Branton paused. "Look, I did work for the Conservatives once upon a time. They preached a good sermon. Family values and all that shit." He shrugged. "I had a daughter who got rid of a baby before she was sixteen. I bought into it." Shaking his head, he continued, "Didn't take long for me to figure out it was all fake. Pomp and circumstance without any good intentions. Just a way to control the masses."

"And you got out?" She snorted indelicately. "They don't just let you go."

"They do when you fake your death and disappear." He grinned. "So…do we go on?"

Sirah looked around. She was in the middle of the desert, miles away from the car they'd abandoned, and he had all the water strapped to his back. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really, no."

"Then…" She gestured for him to move out. "…you first."

* * *

They were less than a mile from the old city limits when the sun began to go down in a brilliant display of colors on the horizon. Sirah found it hard to believe that only a day earlier, she'd left San Francisco. It seemed like she'd been walking in the desert for forty years.

"Let's stop here," Branton said, mopping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

"We should keep going," Sirah countered. "Once the sun goes down and we lose our light, we might miss the rendezvous point."

He swung the pack off his shoulders and plopped it down on a pile of rocks. "Have I led you astray yet?" She answered by sharply arching her eyebrow. "You're too young to be so uptight." Branton eased himself down onto the ground. "Take a break. I'll be ready to go on soon."

She watched as he settled back against the rocks and draped his cap over his face. It had been her experience that men could sleep anytime, anywhere. With a sigh, she wandered over to another, even less comfortable looking pile of rocks. After checking it over for anything that crept, crawled or slithered, she took up a similar position to Branton's.

Looking up at the pink sky, she let her mind wander until her eyelids drooped. She was ready for the dreams, because there was never anything she could do to stop them.

_The stars were the only witnesses to their passion, and they were very good at keeping secrets, having watched millions of lovers over the centuries. They lay entwined under the night sky, listening to each other's heartbeats slow down to their regular rhythms. _

"_Are you cold?" he asked her. "I have another blanket in the car."_

"_I'm fine." She kissed his nipple, loving the way it puckered under her lips. "In fact…I can't ever remember feeling this warm." _

_His fingertips glided over her skin; she shivered with pleasure. "This was a very good idea, honey." _

"_I occasionally have them," she teased. Lifting herself up, she looked down at him. "You've never done it in the desert?" _

_He shook his head against the blanket, his eyes never leaving her breasts. "God, you're perfect," he murmured. He cupped her in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the peaked and aching centers. "You make me think I could do this all night." _

_She threw her head back and closed her eyes at the amazing feeling. "I love you," she said on the tail end of a delicious moan. "I love you, G…"_

A light shone in her eyes. She wanted to keep them closed, but instinct made her seek out the source. Cracking one eye open, she squinted in the harsh beam that was directed right at her. It was dusk; the day had all but disappeared.

The light snapped off, and in the dying, auburn glow of the sun, she saw a face she'd seen a thousand times before…but only in her dreams.

"Grissom," she whispered.

Staring down at her, the face went slack with the same stunned expression she was sure was on her own. "What did you call me?" The voice…she knew that voice, too.

"Sirah." She heard Branton's voice from a few feet away, but she couldn't look away. As far as she was concerned, she was still dreaming. "This is Nikhil and that's Gideon." He scratched his chin. "I think the Connies need to update their image databanks. You're not the chubby-faced young geek we were expecting, Gid."

"You're not…" The man named Gideon stopped for a second, his gaze still fixated on Sirah. "…not what I was expecting either."

A few moments passed before he held out his hand to her, offering her help off the rocky ground. Something compelled her to reach up and take it. She knew, in the split second before their fingers met, exactly how his skin would feel on hers. A little weathered, but warm and tender. Still she wasn't prepared for the electric shock that coursed through her entire body when they touched.

_Hi, remember me? Third row back on the left. I had all the annoying questions. Can I buy you a cup of coffee? I've got a few more…_

She yanked her hand back and scrambled to her feet. Blinking rapidly, she shook her head to clear away the dream that now seemed to be intruding on her reality.

Gideon was still watching her, his hand still extended towards her. Desperate to shake off the unnerving volley of emotions hitting her from all sides, Sirah glanced at the man standing next to Branton. Nikhil was handsome in a very military way, with shortly cropped brown hair and a chiseled chin. He had an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder.

A study in contrast to the scientist who had a dimpled chin, salt and pepper curls, and no weapon.

"Well…you got him here. Congratulations," she told the op. "I'll take over now."

"With all due respect, ma'am…I don't know if I can trust you as far as I could throw you." Nikhil's genteel accent didn't quite match up with his stony features. "I'll be sticking around. Least 'til we get to San Francisco." He enunciated and exaggerated each syllable of the city's name.

Sirah's eyes narrowed. "As long as you don't get in my way, we won't have a problem."

"It's been a real long trip," he went on. She had the distinct feeling she was being ignored. "And the Doc here could use some shut-eye. I say we go into the city and find a safe place to spend the night." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Unless you like the rocks out here."

"I second that suggestion," Branton piped in. "The rocks are fine; it's the sand getting in my shorts that irritates me."

So they started off, with the light from Nikhil's flashlight guiding their way. Sirah hung back from the group a bit, her mind still a jumbled mess of fractured delusions that she suddenly couldn't sort from what was actual and real…and walking just ahead of her.

Gideon glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes meeting her brown, and her heart skipped a beat, something it had never done before over any man. Not even Hollis.

She didn't like it. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than for this mission to be over.

They'd been walking for no more than ten minutes, and were just approaching the remains of what had once been civilization, when a gunshot cracked the air.

Instincts kicking in, Sirah ducked her head and ran towards the only unarmed member of their party. "Get down!" she shouted. She slammed her whole body into Gideon, knocking him to the ground, and turning herself a shield between him and the incoming bullets.

"Who's shooting at us?" he shouted.

"I don't know!" He was warm and solid beneath her, a disturbing observation that couldn't have come at a worse time. "We need to find cover!"

"Sirah!" Branton yelled. "Get him out of here! We'll hold 'em off!" In the weak light, she saw him draw yet another hidden weapon. Nikhil was beside him on the ground, already shooting back with a round of gunfire that was deafening.

She didn't let herself think. Her mission was to protect the scientist, and she had no intention of failing.

"Come on!" Grabbing Gideon's hand, Sirah stood, keeping her head low and urging him to do the same. "This way!" They broke into a run, heading towards the buildings on the horizon.

They'd put a good distance between themselves and the firefight before she realized…he still hadn't let go of her hand.

And she wasn't sure she minded.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Character contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: It's been a very long time since I updated this, I know. It's been a crazy, hot summer. However if you're here, thank you for coming back, even though this story isn't exactly normal fare;)

I also want to thank Cincoflex for the nomination, and all her help.

* * *

Rain Must Fall

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

They ran until Sirah's lungs felt ready to explode. Her breath came in short, painful gasps. Her legs ached. Her heart pounded.

Her fingers were still entwined with Gideon's.

The desert had given way to the suburbs of the city. What had once been neat rows of model homes were now little more than flattened piles of wood and concrete, interspersed with the occasional structure that had somehow survived the Cleansing. But even those buildings looked ready to collapse at any moment.

At the exact time Sirah decided to stop running, she felt Gideon slowing down. His hand released hers, and she felt the loss more than she cared to acknowledge. "We're…safe," he panted. "We can…stop."

They were in the middle of a large intersection, now deserted. A lone traffic light swung above their heads. The dark horizon was framed by even darker mountains on one side, and the remains of the Strip on the other. She could almost make out the twisted metal spire of the Stratosphere in the light of the moon.

Bending over at the waist, she put her hands on her knees and fought to regain control over her breathing. Sweat snaked down her neck and tickled the space between her breasts. She glanced over at Gideon. His dark blue shirt was soaked and his face was red. But he seemed less affected by their marathon sprint; his breathing was deep, but steadier than hers.

"How are you?" he asked her a minute later. He was watching her carefully, studying her like she was under his microscope. There was something akin to puzzled wonder in his expression. It made the back of her neck even hotter than it already was.

Sirah stood up straight, ignoring a sudden, sharp pain in her thigh. "I'm irrelevant." She paused. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he replied, suddenly frowning. Their eyes met for a moment before she abruptly looked away.

"So…this was Las Vegas." She was getting used to the pain, but her leg still felt like it was on fire.

When he said nothing back, Sirah glanced at him. He had turned his attention to their surroundings. His frown grew deeper as he stared down a nearby side street. He took a few hesitant steps towards it.

"Or as the Connies…liked to call it…Sodom and Gomorrah," she added. Her heart was still racing and her leg was only feeling worse. And he was still ignoring her. "Whatever," she sighed. "I don't suppose you've…got a…a mini-comp on you?"

"No." She might as well not have even been there. He was concentrating so hard on whatever he saw down the street. "I think we should go this way," he said a moment later.

"Deeper into the city?" Sirah shook her head, biting her lip against the pain. "No, we need to stay in somewhat…in somewhat plain…sight. The others…need to find them." Her stomach rolled and churned; sweat gathered along her brow. She shook her head as if she could shake herself into focus. "We need to find water."

"I have some." It was only then that she noticed the strap that ran across his chest, and canteen that was attached to it at his waist. He pulled it over his head and unscrewed the cap. "Small sips only," he warned. "You don't want to make yourself sick."

Sirah took it, and tried not to think about how his lips had once been where she was about to put hers. She'd barely taken enough to wet her mouth before the pain in her leg tripled. Her knees gave out from underneath her.

She hit the cracked pavement hard. Darkness closed in, and in the split second before it completely claimed her, she heard him call out her name. Only it sounded wrong somehow...

"Sara!"

* * *

"_This place is a mess." She looked at the man on the couch. He was surrounded by empty water bottles and one half-consumed prescription for a migraine medicine. "What are you doing to yourself?"_

"_I just…I don't know."_

"_You're going to have to do better than that. You haven't been to work in two days. And now I find you here...like this. What's going on?"_

_He ran his hand down his beard. His eyes were bloodshot. "He could have killed you. It could have been your neck he…" Stopping short, he closed his eyes against the possibility that haunted him. "Just like that…a few seconds, some blood….and I would have lost you." _

"_Well, I'm fine." She folded her arms and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "The case is over. So why are you…"_

_He cut her off by leaping to his feet. Grabbing her arms, he hauled her against his chest. His lips were hot and demanding; they pillaged hers without finesse, without permission. She wasn't complaining. It felt as good as she'd always imagined it would. _

_Breaking the kiss, he buried his face in her hair. "I can't fool myself anymore," he said desperately. "I'm making myself sick…trying not to want you." _

_She'd recovered just enough to make her muscles work; her arms circled his shoulders, her fingers dug into his curls. She let him sag against her body, knowing that his heart and his head were at war with each other. _

"_Shh," she soothed. "It's okay." She guided him down to the couch again, surprised when he held onto her. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised._

_But he refused to let go, and the only thing she could do was lie down alongside him. _

_It was still raining outside, and she might have been cold if not for the heat of his body that seeped into hers. They lay together in front of the wide, cold fireplace for a long time before she turned her head to kiss him again. It was slower, sweeter, but still lined with urgent need. _

"_Don't ever leave me" he murmured. "I wouldn't survive it, honey." _

"_Stop thinking about the end before we've even had the beginning." _

"_I'm sorry. I…"_

_She brushed her lips across his, quieting him. "Tell me to go and I will. But after tonight, we either have it all…or we have nothing." He frowned; she smoothed his brow out with the touch of her fingers. "Let your heart win this one. Okay?"_

_He nodded, a smile bringing color back to his cheeks. _

* * *

She woke up to the merry crackle of a fire in the same fireplace.

The couch was gone, but the room was the room from her dream. She was lying on the worn floor, her head pillowed by something soft that smelled decidedly masculine. Turning her face towards the warmth from the hearth, she saw him washing his hands in a pot of steaming water.

She had no idea where she was or how long she'd been there. She was out of control, something she feared even more than she loathed.

"Whoah!" He went to her when she tried to sit up. Pain in her leg kept her down more than his gentle urging for her to lie back. "You need to stay calm. You've lost too much blood as it is."

"Blood?" Sirah's head spun. "I don't…understand."

"You were shot back in the desert. Your pants are black or else we would have noticed you were bleeding earlier." Gideon's jaw was tight, like the idea of that hurt him. "At least, I think you were shot. I haven't really been able to examine you yet." He cleared his throat. "I wanted to wait. To get your permission."

Her hands felt cold and clammy, and her right thigh was on fire. "What? Just…do it."

Gideon hesitated a moment before nodding. "All right." After another second, he reached for her belt. She closed her eyes as he unzipped her black pants and tugged them down her legs.

She tried to be grateful that she was wearing underwear at all.

He gingerly lifted her right leg into his lap. Gently, like his fingers were butterfly wings, he probed her wound. Her breath caught when his knuckles accidentally brushed the soft skin along the edge of her white cotton briefs.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. She opened her eyes and was almost amused to see sweat dotting his forehead. "I'm almost done, I promise."

"I thought I…pulled something running," Sirah said to the ceiling.

"I can't believe you ran at all. Most people would have collapsed instantly," he murmured. "No wonder Carrine sent you." Gideon laid her leg back down onto the floor. "Okay, the good news is that the bullet just grazed you. I found an old pot in the kitchen and I boiled water. I'm going to use this for bandages, okay?" he said, indicating the flannel top he wore over a cotton T-shirt

She sighed. "I'm supposed to be getting you back to San Francisco."

"We'll get there. Right now just try to relax." His hands were now stained with her blood, so he stopped himself before he could touch her cheek. Shaking his head, Gideon stood up and walked back to the fireplace, squatting down in front of the flames.

Sirah took several deep breaths. She was half naked and exposed, bleeding from a bullet wound, and the person she was supposed to protect was acting as her nurse. But above all of that, there was a strange sense of déjà vu. She felt as though there was another reality superimposed on the world. Everything was warped. Unknown and yet familiar.

Especially him.

"Before I…passed out…you called me something." Sirah pushed herself up onto her elbows. "It wasn't my name."

Gideon took his time answering. With his back still to her, she barely heard his soft reply. "You called me something else, too. Earlier in the desert."

"I don't…remember." But it was a lie. Even now, the name from her dreams was on the tip of her tongue.

"Really?" He twisted around to see her. "I think you do."

She hated the fact that her eyes suddenly felt moist. "They're just dreams," she whispered.

"I've been telling myself that for years." He frowned. "Lie back. Please."

Ignoring him, she sat up even further. "It doesn't make…any sense." Sirah blinked back tears. "I've never met you! I've never been here…"

"Are you sure?" Gideon let the question hang in the air for a long time before he went on. "I lied. I didn't just pick this house because it was sturdy. Something…brought me here. It doesn't make any sense, and it's certainly not scientific..." He stopped suddenly.

"Explain that." She scowled, frustrated at her own weakness. "What you just said."

Gideon scratched his fingers through his graying curls. "I wish I could. I just…" He shook his head. "I know you."

"You don't know anything about me," she retorted. The quiet, sure way he'd said that got under her skin.

He didn't say anything back, and when he started ripping up his shirt, she thought he'd decided to let it drop. The muscles in his arms rippled as he tore the fabric into long strips. Her frustration tripled when she found she couldn't look away. He had delicious arms. She tried to remember, but couldn't recall what kind of science he specialized in that kept him outdoors enough to be so tanned.

"You don't eat meat," Gideon suddenly said.

Caught off guard, Sirah blinked. "No one eats meat anymore. Unless you're the fucking president." She paused. "Or fucking the president."

"True," he agreed. "But even when it was available, you didn't eat it."

Her leg throbbed with each thump of her heart. "Carrine could have told you…"

"She could have." He tossed the makeshift bandages into the hot water. "But she didn't." Their eyes met, brown and blue locked together. "I know you," he repeated, even more certain this time. "And I bet…you know me, too."

Sirah's head jerked back and forth. "I don't."

"You're lying." He smiled. "You're a horrible liar. Always have been. Right?"

"Oh, go play with your bugs," she snapped. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a chill ran down her entire body.

To his credit, he said nothing more. He just wrapped her wound with the sterilized fabric strips. When he was done, Gideon cleared his throat and stood. "Get some rest. I'll be here if you need anything."

"Wait." When he looked back at her, Sirah glanced away, not wanting to meet that blue stare full on again. Her face felt hot all of a sudden. Maybe she was getting a fever. Or the fire in the hearth was too much.

She refused to believe that his presence was affecting her this much.

"Never mind," she said a second later. "It's nothing."

Gideon knelt down next to her. "We can call this a lot of things. But it's not 'nothing'."

It took her a long time to fall asleep, and when she did, her dreams were laced with butterflies and Shakespeare.

* * *

To Be Continued 


End file.
